


The Making of Carver Hawke

by amarmeme



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood Magic, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hawke Sibling Reunion, Isabela is a Good Friend, Light Angst, Modern AU, Smut, Sweet Merrill (Dragon Age), Templar Carver Hawke, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 06:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/pseuds/amarmeme
Summary: Carver Hawke thinks he's an adult now, working for the taskforce in Kirkwall's Lowtown, catching rogue blood mages and keeping everyone safe. A chance encounter with Merrill leads him to realize he still has some growing up to do, particularly where Merrill is concerned.Seeing Carver again reminds Merrill of what their friendship was once like, and begins to question whether that's all there ever was. If that was the case though, why has it been three years since they've last seen each other?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/gifts).



A blood magic sighting was just what he needed to completely ruin his morning. Carver pushed back from his disorganized desk, hastily closing the police alert that popped up over the instant message from his sister. He couldn't tell which was worse: finding out just now that Marian was getting married in two weeks, or that some maleficar was running around scaring school children at the history museum. Carver felt for his gun, finding it secure, and grabbed his jacket before checking the roller chair with a hip. It slammed up against the wood desk harder than he'd intended and a few others looked up from their work at the sound.

“Another one then,” Emric said. Carver could feel the line between his eyes crease further. Maybe his mother was right; it'd stay that way if he didn't smile once in awhile. The older detective didn't notice Carver's foul attitude. He just shook his head over his own batch of shitty police reports, at least a dozen windows open on his computer screen. Emeric always focused on those reports, sure there was a connection no one else saw. “Good luck, kid,” he said. 

Carver bristled. More than two years in the taskforce and he was still 'the kid.’ He muttered a thanks and left the office as quick as he could, not even sparing Elissa a glance as he passed the front desk. Their failed date a few nights before was another reason to frown. Was it just the last few weeks that had been particularly awful, or had his life always been this disappointing? He grunted away the thought, not wanting to admit any wrong on his part.

  


The drive to the museum was easy enough. Midmorning traffic wasn't too bad; getting from Lowtown to Hightown took less than twenty minutes and over the period he'd listened to enough classic rock to take the edge off his irritation. It wouldn't serve anyone for Carver to be a giant prick. People were probably scared, and for as much shit as the mage council gave the taskforce, the fact was Carver and his co-workers were the only ones keeping dangerous blood mages off the streets. Catching another one today was worth his focus. He parked in front of the museum's massive set of stone steps and took a calming breath, sorting his annoyance with Marian to a place far back in his mind. They'd have it out later, he just wasn't going to let himself become distracted on the scene.

The walk up to the front doors of the history museum had always intimidated Carver. The giant building loomed over the street with a great authoritative presence. The thirty two steps (he'd counted once, a long time ago) were harsh and steep, as if those who dared enter must pass a test first. With the pair of statue slaves holding up the arc of the roof on either sides of the massive row of metal doors, Carver couldn't help feel a prickle of guilt. Not that he'd been alive back when slaves were the trade of Kirkwall, but some Amell had. The ancient estate his mom and sister lived in wasn't built by his ancestor’s own hands.

Carver hurried inside, the creeping guilt washing over him as he pulled open a door. The thing shut heavily behind him, a rush of forced air whistling out like a despair demon. He shouldn't have been in a place like this, one of learning and knowledge. It always felt like anyone looking at him could tell too; Carver Hawke wasn’t a scholar and should be thrown out on his ass. The imposter. But now, there was no one looking. The building was abandoned.

He reminded himself he was here for work. A guard posted by the front desk gave him a tight nod and Carver approached. It was eerie; the museum was usually packed with visitors. Carver almost checked his watch to be sure it was still morning.

“There was a police report about an incident,” Carver said. His voice echoed and pinged around the domed ceiling, giving him an air of command he didn’t mind.

The guard looked nervous, eyes flitting back towards a gate behind the information desk. It blocked the main floor of the museum from entry. “We cleared everyone out of this floor, but most folk left,” he said. “I don't think there’s too many upstairs either. They heard blood magic and spooked.”

 “Show me." Carver didn't want to spend any more time in the building than necessary.

The guard unlocked the metal gate with a trembling hand, and shoved the gate wide enough for Carver to pass. After they were both through, he locked it again, not that it seemed to matter. Most people did spook when they heard blood magic. That was enough to keep sane people away. Perhaps though, the guard was hoping to block whatever was back behind the bars from coming up front. Whatever lurked back there was enough to frighten a grown man, despite the report saying "no causalities."

The pair walked past the exhibits. The guard’s steps were wary, measured, but he led the way. Carver couldn’t help the sense of foreboding that weighed on his shoulders. It could have been the dark history on display, the bleak ages of Kirkwall for all to read and learn from, a time where slaves were as common as rats, and treated just like them too. There was a corner case dedicated to the history of magical knights, or anti-magic knights to be more accurate. Too often the mage council brought up the ancient order and tried to compare people like him to their twisted forebears.

 _I am not repeating history,_ he thought.

Try as he might, Marian's disappointed face entered Carver’s thoughts. He wanted to shake it out. Scenes from their last fight were as clear to him now as though they were still in the middle of it, arguing until veins popped in their foreheads. It was a relief when the guard turned a corner and entered a new section altogether, the history of elves. The section had its own bleak points (the history of Thedas was pretty grim), but at least the focus wasn’t about mages and knights of lore.

They guard cut a direct route to the back of the exhibit, passing by the many artifacts and dioramas out of their natural order: modern elven inventions including smartphones and the internet turning way to a large, wooden aravel surrounded by ancient elves with intricately inked faces. The guard paused suddenly and Carver nearly ran into his back. The man froze in shock. A large, empty case sat atop a stone base. Ornate metal workings like creeping vines surrounded the case, and at its base, an elf bent over shards of glass, talking to herself.

“You-- you're still here,” the guard stammered.

Merrill looked up, and to Carver’s amusement, chided the guard.

“I do work here you know.” Her eyes brightened when she spied him behind the guard. “Oh, Carver!” She dropped the pieces of glass from her hands and stood. “I suppose you're here to arrest me.”

The guard tittered nervously and Carver ambled past him. “You can go, very... helpful. Thanks.” He practically ran, leaving Carver and Merrill quite alone.  

He hadn't seen Merrill in at least three years. Not since Marian left to explore the Deep Roads, and certainly not since she came back and he started at the taskforce. Merrill was still as bright as he remembered, green eyes shockingly wide, skin as fresh and vibrant as if she bathed in a bath of daisies every night. His heart pumped a bit faster at the sight of her. He cleared his throat.

“You are here to arrest me. I suppose I broke a rule. Oh I shouldn't admit that, should I? Not to you.”

Carver didn't know what to say. He reached dumbly, blindly into his pocket for his phone, nearly dropping it on the marble floor when his fingers acted like gelatine. He looked down at the phone in his hand and unlocked it with a thumbprint. _This is a case, just a case,_ he told himself.

“You are registered?” He glanced up as he swiped open the taskforce's database. Merrill twisted her hands together, manicured fingertips delicate yet covered in dried blood. Deep red stains streaked across her sleeves too. “I'll find you listed as a registered mage?”

She nodded. “Yes. Hawke made me fill out a great deal of paperwork when I moved here. I suppose you don't remember that. You may have been at your uncle's? Or with Varric?” She stepped closer, hands pulling down her tunic. Her cheeks flushed. “I’m babbling aren’t I? Am I in trouble? It fell and I tried to fix it before anyone could notice. I think someone saw me and thought... Well,” she sighed. “You know what they thought.”

Carver forced himself to look away from her and at the scene before him. There was glass everywhere, and a fair amount of blood splattered across the floor. Merrill’s blood. A large, ornate frame rested on its side, the glass had clearly shattered out of the frame once it fell. “Tell me what happened, Merrill.”

“You remember me. I was starting to think you forgot!”

“You’d really think that?” His voice nearly cracked. It was out before he could stop it. To keep from getting flustered, Carver frowned and put his phone away. “I remember you. It wasn't that long ago.”

“Three years is a long time, Carver. I thought you were mad at me, because I went with Hawke. And then when I came back and heard you joined the taskforce I was sure you were mad with me.”

His jaw dropped. Mad at her? What in the void was she thinking? He'd been a little miffed she'd left, sure. But mad at her? How could she? He grumbled under his breath; it was certainly his sister's fault.

Merrill's eyes grew as big as dinner plates. “I'm sorry to bother you! I really thought I could fix the Eluvian, but someone saw me and I stopped. I know I'm not supposed to use blood magic in public. I just didn't want my boss to find the mirror and think clumsy Merrill had done it. I didn't. Break it I mean; it was already broken. I did use the magic, but I -- oh!” She closed her mouth tightly.

“It's alright. This was your first time and no one was hurt. You get a warning. But I'll have to put it in your file. If you practice blood magic in public again, even if no one is hurt, they will have to pull your magic license altogether.”

“How do you know it's my first time?”

“I’ve never seen your name on a report,” he said flatly. Also, Merrill would never put someone in danger. This was a fluke, the first innocent blood magic case he'd had in the last year. Most times the job was gruesome. There wasn't a point in telling her that though.

She thought for a moment, twitching her slim fingers and then starting to shift away. “Well it was good to see you Carver. Though you likely can't say the same about me.”

She tried to smile, but looked wistful, about as sad as she'd been three years ago, maybe knowing now it would be a long time before she'd see him again. It hurt, that sad concern. What a damn, confusing rollercoaster of a morning.

“Merrill.” His voice was soft to his own ears. He sounded like an idiot. “It was good to see you looking so... good. I just hope we don't have to meet like this again in order to see one another.”

He tried a smile. It felt pretty forced, even if he was happy to see her. It hardly mattered to Merrill. The gentle curve of her lips was enough to turn his pathetic attempt at a grin into an earnest one. With it, a piece of his heart flew through the window and filled in a spot he didn't even know was missing. It was a stupid thing to think, technically on the job, with blood and glass all over the place, but he had always been a bit of a fool around her. He could at least admit that to himself.

“Will I see you again?” The hopeful look in her eyes made him almost giddy. Hawkes didn't get giddy, but there it was.

“I think so,” he grinned. “I've got to go right now but I'll be in touch?”

“I'd like that,” she replied.

Carver turned away reluctantly, but with a bit more enthusiasm in his step. Before he got too far, Merrill called out once more.

“What does it mean?”

He turned back, puzzled. “What? That we saw each other today?”

“No!” She laughed. The light sound of her melodic voice knitted more and more parts of him back together. “The letters on your jacket.”

“Oh,” he said. A flush rose to his cheeks. “Are you sure you registered?” He raised a brow and Merrill just shrugged. “Taskforce Employed for Magical Protection, Licensing, Arraignment and Rehabilitation. It's a mouthful, I know.”

“It's just long. Like a lot of ancient Elvhen. I better find a broom, and a washrag. There's so much here to do.” She waved him away. “Bye, Carver.”

While he made his way to the front, passing by the creepy, sad history, it occurred to him so clearly where everything started going wrong. As the guard fumbled for his keys at the gate, Carver realized he had to find a way to make it up to Merrill. He'd chosen to leave her behind. He'd turned away from their friendship, and although that’s all it had ever been, at one point he thought he wanted much more. Just one look at her again and his heart was racing. The feelings resurfacing were hardly a surprise. She was the sweetest person he’d ever known, and always made him feel better, recognized. Like he mattered as much as his sister did. She called him Carver, not Junior or little Hawke, but Carver. That was enough to keep her in his good graces forever. Not to mention how perfect she looked, all lithe and graceful. She thought she was clumsy, but he’d spent enough time watching her hips sway to know differently.

Carver thought his luck was picking up considerably.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A meet-cute that involves blood magic and eluvians! :D


	2. Chapter 2

There was no way to tell Hawke she'd seen Carver without distressing her friend. But Merrill couldn't keep it inside anymore. The wedding was a week away and Hawke had to know her brother was doing well and didn't hate mages. He hadn't arrested her after all. Maybe he could come to the wedding and they'd all be friends again. The idea of being a bridesmaid was nerve-wracking enough, but having Carver there would help. He always made her feel better in the past, like she wasn't the odd one out.

Merrill sagged in her seat, tying the bow around the candlestick a bit too tightly, cutting the candle in two. The two halves hung limply, connected by the wick.

“Frustrated, Kitten? Trying to castrate the wedding decorations?” Isabela stoked her arm and Merrill let the broken pieces fall to her lap. Everything around her shattered apart lately if given the chance.

“I saw Carver,” she said.

“And you're angry enough to break his candlestick in half?” Isabela’s brow was arched with real interest now. She leaned further into Merrill, crowding her on the newly upholstered couch. The Hawke estate was so nice. “What did he do -- cop a feel while performing a pat down?”

Merrill turned a shade of embarrassed that could only be described as tomato red. The tips of her ears burned, as if Isabela could possibly know what Merrill had thought when she'd seen Carver in his uniform. His dark, form-fitting uniform. “No. He was very polite. He didn't arrest me for using blood magic.”

“Using what now?” Hawke sputtered as she entered the room, a glass of red wine in hand already. “Are you doing blood magic again? Are you trying to get thrown in jail? The cells are hardly nicer than your apartment, Merrill. It's just not worth it.”

Merrill twitched her nose. Her apartment wasn't so bad-- it was the best she could afford on assistant curator's salary.

“It wasn’t serious,” she said. “I just tried to fix an artifact before anyone could find out. Some children may have walked by and then the guards called the police.”

“Little brother picked up the case,” Isabela smirked. “And he was so polite. Didn't even arrest her.”

Hawke's eyes rolled automatically. “Oh, of course. Carver's on the scene to try and bust one of my friends.” She flopped into an armchair by the fireplace dramatically, blowing fallen bangs out of her eyes. “Probably acted like he was doing you a favor, the tit.”

This was all going wrong. She wanted to help them reunite and already Merrill had said the wrong thing entirely. “No,” Merrill rushed to add. “He was as nice as he always was. And said we should see each other again soon.”

Marian picked up a candlestick and wrapped an elegant bow without even glancing down. “Nice as he always was? Are we talking about the same Carver?”

There were times when Merrill felt as if no one really listened to what she'd said. It always made her doubt she was capable of voicing her thoughts out loud. As if after all these years she still didn't understand how humans went about their lives. This was one of those times. Of course it was the same Carver. What was confusing about him being nice? She couldn't recall a time when he’d been deliberately mean or rude. Not to her.

 _Oh,_ she thought _,_ suddenly remembering the Hawke siblings’ last conversation. _That had been awful._

“Kitten,” Isabela said, smoothing her arm again. “Carver was a bit of an idiot sometimes. It sounds like he's grown up. Bet he’s grown right into that uniform too.”

Hawke made a fake gagging sound while Merrill tried to hide a smile of agreement. Isabela saw of course. Her dark eyes sparkled, just like when she was helping home a patron from the bar. Merrill understood walking the women home, though some of the men Isabela escorted didn't look like they didn't need assistance scaring away creeps on the sidewalks. Isabela was a good friend though and now she was keeping her thoughts to herself. Merrill was grateful for that.

Merrill spoke as Hawke drained her glass. “I just wanted to you to know he wasn't even mad at me. He only gave me a warning.”

Hawke shot forward in her seat, clutching the glass so tight Merrill worried it would break too. “He wrote you up! My own brother. Maker knows I should un-invite him to the wedding now. He’ll probably take Anders down to the cells just for looking at him wrong.”

Most of the complaint flew over Merrill's head. The important part was that she'd see Carver again next weekend.

“Oh, Hawke. I'm so glad you've made up! If I had a brother I'd want him at my wedding, even if he was a tit.”

Isabela laughed as Hawke grumbled and got up for another bottle of wine. There were a lot of candles to decorate left on the table before them, as well as napkins and little pouches of dried plants that smelled too strongly. Returning from the kitchen with the wine, Isabela filled Hawke's glass to the brim, and topped Merrill's off at a more respectable amount. She really didn't need much to feel drunk. Isabela kept the rest of the bottle for herself. She swigged out of it, but didn't look as ungraceful as it would have had Merrill tried it. Isabela always seemed so in control of her body; Merrill would feel quite the fool standing near her in the same dress in front of all those people. A stalk of elfroot compared to Isabela and her beautiful curves. Merrill sipped more wine to calm her nerves. At least she wouldn't be the only elf standing in the party to be stared at; Fenris was Sebastian’s best man.

Hawke interrupted her worries. She leaned over the table between them, clasping one of Merrill’s hands. “I'm glad he didn't arrest you. But mother's made me include him in the wedding party. He hasn't even bothered responding yet, but I know he won't disappoint mother. That ass’ll show up with no warning. You'll be walking with him and if that’ll make you uncomfortable at all, I'll change the order. I just can't believe he wrote you up!”

“Oh, don't worry about me, Hawke! I'm glad to walk with anyone Leandra wants me to.”

Hawke snorted, picking up another candle to wrap. “Isn't that the truth. It's practically my mother's wedding at this point.”

Weren't mother's supposed to be involved? Did she say something wrong again? Merrill just kept tying bows, each getting better than the last. Though she was still worried about messing up her role at the wedding, at least Carver would be at her side.

  


After hours of candle tying and napkin folding, Hawke released them to the night. Merrill was tired, ready to climb into her small, tidy bed and forget about work and wedding decorations and walking in front of hundreds of watching eyes.

“Let me take you home, Kitten.” Isabela grabbed Merrill by the elbow and waved away Merrill’s phone. “We don’t need a cab.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind paying.” Merrill knew her account was low, but not so much so that should couldn’t afford a twenty minute cab fare.

“I’m sure.” Isabela whispered sweetly in her ear so Hawke couldn’t hear. “We have some secrets to discuss.”

Hawke shook her head and shoved them both to the door. “Isabela thinks she’s being coy, but really not. Merrill, just take a walk with her. Obviously she has something very wise and worldly to share with you.”

The three shared hugs, Merrill squeezed Hawke extra tight. The next few days were bound to be stressful on her, reuniting with her brother right before getting married. Merrill wished she had something wise and worldly to say, but she’d never had siblings. The best advice she could give would be about being alone and Hawke was always surrounded by friends. As they stepped through the front door and onto Hightown’s manicured streets, Isabela cupped her chin.

“You seem a little down. Want to tell me why?”

“Hawke is getting married and you always have romantic adventure stories to share; Aveline is happily married and compared to that, my life is a stale, dry biscuit. Not that I’m not happy for all of you, I just wish I had your life.”

Isabela pulled her into a slow moving hug. Snug against her, Merrill was warm and a bit more content. They walked in perfect synch down the sidewalk. The moon shone over the streets, illuminating the roads like deep rivers at midnight.

“You don’t want my life, Kitten. You have a good heart and deserve better. Hawke’s life -- maybe. If you’re into the Prince Charming type.”

“But you have a good heart too. Don’t you want to stay with one person for a while?”

“That’s not for me. I travel too much, but you -- what’s going on with Carver?”

Merrill squirmed. Nothing was going on, but the way Isabela asked made her feel like something _had_ happened at the museum. What did she want though? To be friends, certainly. One could always use more friends and Carver had been a good one before.

“We just talked to each other, that’s all. I wish I’d been more prepared -- I’d have said something smarter than, ‘you’re here to arrest me,’ I just wasn’t expecting him. An officer of course, but it was Carver! It was an awfully long time ago when I last saw him and until last week I didn’t think he liked me anymore. I’m very glad he wasn’t mad with me.”

It was growing dark, but Isabela had stopped paying attention to the path in front of her and was looking closely at Merrill. Her lips were curved in a smile that was very familiar, like when she told a story about one of her lovers.

“Did I say something?” Merrill frowned, sure she hadn’t misspoke this time.

“It was something, dear.” She considered for a moment. “I’m sure he never disliked you, that’s not possible. And what luck, he and Hawke are forced to make up and now you’ll be walking down the aisle together.”

Merrill sighed. “I know, I’m worried I’ll trip.”

“Just grab onto that strong, strapping bicep of his and you’ll be fine,” Isabela said.

They carried on through the streets, arm in arm, confiding about her mishap at work, Isabela’s latest adventure on the sea. Isabela insisted on dropping Merrill at her apartment, even if it was out of the way. The paved, immaculate sidewalks disappeared, giving way to cluttered gutters and drunken patrons singing in the streets. They hadn’t shared any secrets, and Merrill didn’t think she’d received any great advice about the world, but Isabela had the most exciting stories to tell. Maybe one day Merrill would have one to tell of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be a SebHawke sucker and couldn't match up this Marian with anyone else. xD
> 
> Also, weddings are just rife with family drama and seemed like a great setting and reason to bring Carver back into the fold naturally.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re not bringing a date to the wedding!” Marian snapped, throwing a perfectly folded napkin at his head.

“Of course not -- you hardly gave me enough time to ask anyone,” he said.

His sister picked up the napkin she’d just tossed at him, and glared as if it was his fault the cloth was now crumpled and formless. She chewed her cheek and crisply folded it back into a swan, or duck or whatever kind of bird she was making. He had no idea she could do that. Her bottom lip quivered, a look that she and Bethany had perfected as kids whenever they wanted him to take the fall for something. And of course every time he did.

“ _Marian_...”

Her lip grew stiff again. “What about that girl mother said you were seeing two weeks ago? Elsa? Lissa? If it would be an inconvenience, but we could make room for her next to Gamlen.” He wasn't even seeing Elissa, but his sister didn't need to know that. 

“I wouldn’t _dream_ of inconveniencing you.” This time the bird flew right into his eye.

Marian sighed and sat at the dining room table, fingers curling around a napkin ring encrusted with maroon and gold jewels. She looked tired. He’d never say it, she was mad enough at him already, but Carver wondered what it could be that was making her look so terrible. Maybe the priest would bugger off if he saw her now.

“If mother hadn’t insisted, you’d not even be coming.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Marian looked at him fully, eyes a bit red, as if she’d been crying. “Does that not bother you? My only sibling and I don’t want you at my wedding?”

Carver shifted in place, hands folded in front of him. He’d come straight from work, still in his black uniform, which now seemed like a bad idea. They’d been bickering for at least twenty minutes already, about the usual: mages and trumped-up police officers who were dooming everyone to repeat the past. 

Marian continued without letting him speak, she was always the talker in the family. She’d probably been overjoyed as a kid to discover she’d have two younger siblings to gab at.

“And that’s your fault. You haven’t talked to me in three years! What am I supposed to think? That you hate me? That you hate your entire mage-filled family? I can’t help what I am. So why should I have you there, glaring at me and judging me instead of being happy for me because I found someone who likes me, mage blood and all!” Her cheeks were red and Marian gripped the napkin ring so tight he thought it might break. “Say something! You used to be so good at snarking back at me.”

“I was never mad at you.”

“Ha, that’s a bigger lie than Varric’s story about a Qunari in the viscount’s office.”

Carver groaned, irritated. “Fine, I was mad at you for being a bitch and leaving me here when you damn well knew I could have used the money. But it was always about you -- dragging us to Kirkwall because you thought you could do better here. Didn’t you realize I had a job before?”

“Being enlisted is not a job, Carver.”

“The void it is! You tell that to Aveline.”

She recanted, raising her palm. “Alright, continue I guess.”

“Thanks, your majesty, for the permission.” She rolled her eyes and began to speak, but Carver cut her off. “And then when I get a job while you were off gallivanting with your new friends finding artifacts that were worth _real_ money, you turned on me. I didn’t even get a chance to tell you and mother already was warning me not to come over. ‘Let her cool her heels,’ she said. Well are you cool yet? Can you talk to me yet about what I do for a living, sis?”

“Fine! Why couldn’t you have just joined the police instead? You had to join an anti-mage machine.”

“Do you even hear yourself?! You listen to that whack-job Anders too much. And Aveline wouldn’t take me. She said the police force ‘wasn’t for me.’ Fuck if I know why. That’s probably your influence. Everyone falls over everything Marian Hawke says.”

“Why do you have to be so insufferable?”

“Why do you have to be so full of yourself?”

The siblings stared at one another, fuming. It hadn’t occurred to Carver how similar they really were until that very moment. Bethany had balanced them. Without her, Marian and he would always rub against each other the wrong way. He took a deep breath and covered his face with a hand. His twin had been gone for four years. She should have been in Marian’s wedding, she should have been the one brokering the peace between them. She’d have known exactly what to say to make them both calm down.

“Do you ever miss her so much it hurts?” He dropped his hand. Marian was staring down, twirling the napkin ring absently between her fingers. “Sometimes I’m going about my day, minding my own business and someone will say something so Bethany-like that I’ll freeze. It feels like I’ve forgotten her and then my guts twist because isn’t that my responsibility to remember her? All the time?”

“Of course I’m missing her. She should be here, right now, helping me get married. Picking out all the shit I’m terrible at deciding, handling mother for me.” Marian smiled weakly. “She was the best sister.”

“I know,” he said. For once, Marian didn’t take that as an insult. “If she was alive, she’d never of refused to see me. Not after I joined the taskforce.”

“I know,” Marian sighed.

“And you might not want to hear this, but I think she would have approved. No, more than that, she would have joined too. There are mages who work with us every day. We couldn’t do our jobs if we didn’t have them on our team.”

Marian considered that, then put out her hand. Carver stared at it, uncertain. They never held hands. “Take it, damn it. Don’t make me feel like an idiot.” He grabbed her hand. It was awkward at first, but then he moved to sit next to her and it wasn’t so strange. “I’m sorry I refused to see you. It felt like an insult to me. To father. To her.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, Marian.” She eyed him. “It's a first, I know. I’m not good at much. I’m not as smart as you. I had to get a job and grow the hell up. Weren’t you always telling me to?”

She smiled and looked better. Maybe what was weighing on her and making her look like shit was him. “I never thought you would listen.”

“Sometimes I surprise even myself.”

  


The conversation with his sister had drained him, but Carver wasn’t going home to bed before ten on a Saturday night. He found himself entering Varric’s bar down near his office, a place a lot of taskforce members liked to hang out after work. He hadn’t joined them before, for obvious reasons. The Hanged Man was as he remembered it though, completely disgusting and perfect for getting lost in drink. The dive bar was famed for its history, of which Varric had written a successful book on. Carver had never read it, but he knew it helped pump the popularity of both the bar and its author.

Corff still served the drinks. His disapproving expression and blonde mop of hair was a welcome sight. Carver shook his head, swinging over a stool, crossing his arms and leaning against the lacquered top. Some things never changed. Corff walked up with a look of extreme annoyance, eyes narrowed to slits.

“What do you want, Junior? Better not be here to start anything.”

“Me?” Carver grumbled. “You must be thinking of my sister.”

“You were a thick head after a few drinks, I remember that well enough.” Corff threw a battered paper coaster on the bartop, advertising The Blooming Rose down six blocks away. The strip club was famed for its history too. Not that he knew the place for its history either.

“Just give me a dark one,” Carver said.

The beer was good; thick and rich, relaxing his shoulders and neck with each sip. Dealing with Marian was always stressful, but at least today he felt like they’d made a little leeway with one another. He was still irritated she’d thought so poorly of him, as if he really could hate his own family, but Marian was used to being the center of everything. Surely anything he did had to do with her, for good or bad.

A game played on the bar tv -- a shitty match-up between Kirkwall Knights and the Starkhaven Gold. Football wasn’t even his sport, but he watched numbly, ball kicked back and forth between the teams, boos erupting in the bar when the Gold narrowly made a shot. A warm hand found its way up the back of his coat, and a woman whispered into his ear.

“At least somebody’s finally scored.” Carver whipped around to find Isabela perched next to him, alluring as he remembered in a tight dress and nearly thigh-high boots. “You’ve certainly filled out that uniform. I always knew you’d turn out.”

“So all that time you were just putting me on ice, knowing I’d come back around and show you all I learned?”

“Precisely. But, I hear that I’m too late.”

“You are never too late. Only an idiot would turn a woman like you down.”

Isabela dipped her head, then took his beer. She drew it over with a fingertip, the hand on his back moving to his thigh. “Of course, but now I was hoping you were still a bit of an idiot.” She patted his leg and drank from his beer. “This is good. I heard you saw a mutual friend of ours recently.” Her fingers tapped on his leg, not enticingly, but a threat.

“I did?” Isabela nodded, taking another sip. “Merrill. You mean Merrill.”

“You’re interested in her, aren’t you?”

Carver felt an unbidden blush rise to his cheeks. Luckily the dive bar was dark. Lots of broken lights. Varric said it always gave it more charm. “I -- maybe. It’s been a while, but she -- is she good?”

“She’s a little lonely. I get the feeling that she’s hoping someone would make a move so she wouldn’t have to.”

Carver stole back his own drink before Isabela could finish it. “And, you think she wants that to be me?”

“I don’t know Carver, would I be talking to you about it if I didn’t think that?” She laughed. “You are still a bit of tit, good Maker.” He certainly didn’t like being called a tit, but Isabela was now gripping very tightly on his leg, nails indenting into his skin and all. “Despite that I think it's a good idea. But I didn’t realize until very recently how much she missed you when you went to find yourself a man. If you do anything like that to her again, I will cut off your balls.”

Yelping would have been beneath him. Carver damn near bit through his lip before she let go of his leg. “Okay, okay.” He rubbed his thigh and growled at her. “Between you and Marian it's a miracle I have any legs to stand on.”

Corff dropped a beer in front of Isabela and she smiled gratefully at him. She took drink before speaking with what looked like glee. “She took you down a peg?”

“Something like that.”

“Good. You shouldn’t have given up on her. Girls like a chase, even sisters.

Carver coughed in his mug. “That’s sick.”

“No, that’s sense. You should never have just stopped talking to her. Sure she was mad at you at first. I remember what an ass you were. But then you didn’t even try making up with her and you kept talking to Leandra. That was a slap in the face. Hawke thought it was you two against the world.”

Carver shook his head. “That’s not how I remember it.” She flicked his ear. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t piss off your sister again either, that’s what that was for.” Isabela swiveled around and pointed off to a table filled with off-duty taskforce members. They were drinking and sharing stories, hardly bothering with the game at all. Her dark eyes gleamed despite the low light. “Now, introduce me to some of your friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this isn't primarily a story about Carver and Marian, and is filling a fix for Carver and Merrill, I didn't want to make this first scene too long. I think there's a lot of interesting territory to cover with a proud mage Hawke and Carver as a templar/modern taskforce member. I do think that with Bethany gone, the similarities between the two siblings causes a lot of friction, but they love each other a lot. And sorry Bethany, for ensuring you were still dead in this AU.
> 
> In the actual canon DA2 dialogue, there's banter between Isabela and Carver about how Merrill's doing and then it clicks for Isabela. She would totally be on board to get them together, and her soft spot for Merrill warms my cold heart.


	4. Chapter 4

The restaurant was the fanciest place she’d ever been, and it was just the Groom’s Dinner. Merrill couldn’t imagine what the wedding was bound to be like. Before her, the tablecloth was pure white, pristine and silky smooth. The dishes were so fine they were almost translucent, and chandeliers dripping with diamonds hung heavily from the ceiling. On one side of Merrill was Hawke’s cousin Solona, on the opposite sat Carver. She’d been nervously talking to Solona, not avoiding Carver entirely, but he was so close. Close enough that she could smell him, the strong, warm reassuring scent of him. A false sense of intimacy at their proximity overwhelmed her, and so she learned about what Solona did instead. It turned out, a lot.

Here she was, just Merrill, surrounded by a “Hero of Ferelden,” who found a cure for a wasting disease called the Blight, and a professional officer of the law. Across from her was Sebastian’s two brothers, both successful politicians in Kirkwall; then of course Isabela who owned her own Charter boat and was a wealthy businesswoman; Aveline was a captain too, of Kirkwall’s police; and Fenris owned his own winery and lived blocks away from Hawke in Hightown. Merrill looked down at her dress, a green, vintage willowy empire-waisted gown that brought out the color of her eyes. Vintage really meant used though, and Merrill couldn’t help feel a little small surrounded by all the successful people. She folded her hands in her lap and listened attentively while Solona spoke. At least she could be known for being polite.

“My husband came with me on all the excursions in the field. We weren’t dating at first, but he won me over. He said the one good thing about the Blight is that it brought us together. He’s completely cheesy, but I love it.”

Solona smiled dreamily and waved at her husband not too far across the room. He was a handsome man with reddish-brown hair and a prominent nose that suited him very well, and when he returned his wife’s gesture with a wink, Merrill could have sighed right along Solona.

Carver leaned over into Merrill’s space and whispered just loud enough that she and his cousin could hear. “They’re nauseating like that at all our family gatherings.”

Solona laughed at Carver, blonde hair falling across her face until she tucked it behind an ear. The golden waves were much prettier than Merrill’s short brown pixie cut. “Carver, I only hope that soon you are as nauseatingly happy as I am.”

She pushed at his shoulder in front of Merrill, and he sat back in his seat with a stupid grin. It was strange, she was so used to Carver arguing with his sister, that to see him joking with a cousin in a teasing way threw her for a moment.

Before she could say anything, Sebastian’s parents stood at the front of the room. They sat on Sebastian’s side at a head table, while Leandra sat on Hawke’s right. Sebastian’s father was as striking as his son, with dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes. The whole set of sons were just the same, while their mother’s hair was almost black. She too had a grace about her, with a perfectly pressed off-white dress and golden gemstones around her neck and wrists. Merrill watched her as her husband spoke about two families joining and honor, and observed how her hand came to rest on his elbow, her smile not too wide, but elegantly pleased. Carver whispered into her ear while she watched.

“Is it just me, or does Choir Boy’s mother have a stick up her ass too? Now I know where he gets it from.”

Merrill gasped in shock, but managed to keep herself mostly quiet. Only Isabela turned to look at her, grinning. “Carver, you are terrible! Stop that,” Merrill whispered back. He poked her side and she couldn’t help giggle just a little, under her hand.

The dinner went smoothly enough, but Merrill felt a bit left outside of the conversation. She tried to keep up at the table, but between the two politicians and the business people, she found herself with nothing to say. Carver turned just to her after desserts were served, and together they talked about what they’d been up to in the last three years.

“I’ve been trying to get a promotion at the museum, but budgets are tight,” Merrill said after describing just what an assistant curator did. “It doesn’t help that a priceless artifact broke on my watch.”

“You haven’t, you know, tried magic to fix it again have you?”

Merrill frowned over her crème brûlée, and cracked it mercilessly with her spoon. “No, I haven’t.”

Carver touched the back of her hand, gently. A crack of energy as satisfyingly sharp as breaking into the desert ran up her arm at the touch. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Merrill sighed and let her spoon drop. “It’s okay, you’re just doing your job.” Now he frowned as if she’d said the most ridiculous thing. “What?” Merrill asked.

“I’m not asking because of my job, I’m worried about you.” His thumb smoothed over the back of her hand.

“O..oh?”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to get you into more trouble. I know you mean well and would never hurt anyone.”

He still hadn’t moved his hand away. His thumb kept up a steady path, back and forth. Merrill was nervous her fingers would tremble and she’d ruin the moment. Instead she just stared at where they were connected and imagined, for just a moment, they shared a bond like Solona and her husband, or Sebastian’s parents. That touches like this were normal for them and not fleeting. She could count the number of times they’d ever been this close on one finger.

“Merrill?” Carver asked. She looked at his face; there were so many handsome men in the room that evening, but Carver the most attractive of them all. His jawline was very defined, his mouth perfectly teasing even when in a frown, and his eyes were so softly blue they were almost grey. _For such a strong face, he has kind features_.

She knew he was expecting some kind of response from her, but Merrill was too embarrassed to say anything. She was fixated, staring quite obviously, and her cheeks grew pink. Friends didn't get flustered over one another. Carver acted friendly to make up for their lost time together, and she was taking it too far. “Excuse me,” she said. “I need to -- I’ll be right back!”

The restroom was a clever escape. Merrill grabbed her purse and scurried away before Carver could say anything else. The restroom was in the lobby, and before she could make it there, Varric called after her by the bar.

“Daisy, come here and toast with me.”

It was as good an escape as any. Merrill crossed the room and joined Varric's side. He'd already gotten a drink for her. It sat on the bar, tempting as a jewelstone or an artifact in the field. She picked it up carefully, sipped neatly before nodding her approval at the sweet, lemony flavor. She could hardly taste alcohol.

“Alright the toast. To weddings, and to not being the ones getting married.”

“Varric! That's an awful thing to say the day before a wedding don't you think?”

He laughed and yet Merrill clinked his glass of beer anyway. Varric's shirt was buttoned up entirely for once underneath his suit coat, not a glimpse of chest hair to be seen. She drank her entire glass in almost one gulp, still nervous from her conversation before. Varric’s deep voice coated her thoughts for a moment.

“You alright? I'd swear I'd never seen you drink so quick. Is Junior being polite over there? I know we haven't seen him in long time, but Hawke assured me he wasn't going to hassle any mages tonight.”

Merrill finished her drink instead of responding. Varric got a very odd look on his face, before turning away to glance back at her table. She didn't want to join him in that, and so when the bartender asked if she wanted another, Merrill gladly said yes. The Vaels had paid for an open bar.

 

She had never been hungover before. Maybe tired the next day after staying out late, but this was too much. Her head swam and her stomach roiled. She tried to sit up, but had to fall back to the pillow. Merrill also didn't know where she was, not recognizing the bed she was sleeping in or the clothes she was wearing. The room was mostly blank, devoid of character. A tall oak dresser sat in the corner and her dress was laid out gently over a chair, her shoes and bag rested orderly on the floor. A moment of panic struck before she recalled where she was the night before. Surrounded by so many friends, she'd surely been taken care of after too many drinks. Maybe this was a guest room in Varric's house. She eased her breathing and searched for her phone, hoping it wasn't in her purse, all the way across the room.

A little chirp sounded next to her on the bedside table. She grabbed her phone and checked the time first, nearly noon. Panic rose up again, the wedding was in four hours. The message was from Isabela.

 **\--Hope you slept well, Kitten**.--

Merrill texted back, squinting at the bright screen.

**\--I just woke up! I hope I’m not going to be late -- where am I?--**

A second later the phone chirped again.

**\--Why don't you get your sweet, sleepy ass up and see?--**

Getting up sounded like the worst idea, but Merrill did have to get moving for the wedding. She would not disappoint Hawke. Creeping out of bed, Merrill realised she was only wearing a large t-shirt with a band name on the front she didn’t recognize. It came down to her knees though, and she wiped away sleep from her eyes. Each step hurt, but she forced herself to the door and into the hallway. The light was too bright and she flinched. Why would anyone choose to drink so much? There was only one direction to go, and so Merrill followed the hall out to a large, open-spaced area. There was a shiny kitchen much nicer than hers, with new silver appliances and a small dining table with two chairs, and to the other direction, a big, grey sectional couch supporting a sleeping Carver. He was sitting upright, as if he'd been doing something and then sat down only to fall asleep mid-thought. His head rested in a hand, and Merrill thought to step backwards as quietly as possible. The floorboard creaked though, she let out a little 'oop’ and Carver's eyes shot open.

“You're awake,” he said, and stood to reach for her. She backed up anxiously. Merrill had not expected seeing Carver; not dressed in just his shirt. “You were pretty drunk, and my place was the closest to the restaurant. Isabela helped you up and tucked you in if that's what you're worried about. I stayed out here. On the couch.”

“Oh,” she said. Nothing else could pop out. The last thing she remembered was being embarrassed by how struck with Carver she'd been. His eyes tracked her now. He waited hesitantly for a response that made more sense. She unglued her lips. “I'm not feeling so well.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then set himself in motion. “I can help with that. Sit down and I'll get you something. I've had enough hangovers before to know a cure or two.”

“You do this on purpose?” Merrill put shaky fingers to her forehead and sat where he'd been moments before.

He chuckled. “No, you don't want to get a hangover, but some of the best nights come before one.”

“I can't remember my night.”

Carver appeared before her with a tall glass of chocolate milk and three aspirin. “It's okay, Merrill. You didn't do anything bad. You were--” he glanced away. She was in too rough of shape to notice the color on his cheeks. “Take these and drink this. Then you'll feel better.”

The idea of milk in the moment tested her gag reflex, but Merrill took the pills from his hand, brushing his palm. It reminded her of the touch last night, and she grew uncomfortably warm. “I don't know if I can drink this,” she said.

“Just try? I promise it works.”

Carver sat on the ottoman and watched her like, well, a hawk. She drank all the milk, despite how much she hated it in the moment, and he took the glass away, setting it on a nearby end table. Merrill wanted to sink into the couch, to curl into a little ball and go back into the state of forgetting. She looked at the time again, only 12:15, and tried to rationalize how much longer she could spend sleeping.

Carver smiled. It was really a good look on him. “I can give you at least a half hour if you want. Then I'll drive you over to your place to pick up your stuff and head back to the estate? We need to be there by 3:00. Does that sound okay?”

Merrill just nodded and Carver brought her a warm blanket. As she closed her eyes and laid back against the couch, he sat down beside her.

“Come here, that's not comfortable,” Carver said. His voice was so low. Merrill peeked open her eyes and he pulled her against him. She let herself be pulled, finding herself within his arms, her head resting against his chest. She leaned into it the hug, and despite her disbelief at the embrace happening, fell back asleep to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Merrill might drink too much when she's nervous...


	5. Chapter 5

Carver sat outside Merrill's Elventown apartment building in his car, waiting for her to shower and gather her wedding things. She'd been reluctant to let him drive at all once she woke again, feeling a bit more clear-headed. But Carver reasoned he could sit in the car just as well as any cab driver, and wasn’t going to charge for it. Merrill had to give in at that.

Left waiting, he had a lot to think about. The night before had been more than he’d bargained for, if he was honest. Not only had Merrill drank herself sick for the first time in her life in an attempt to avoid talking to him, Isabela forced his hand, or his apartment, on her unknowingly.

“Are you sure she’s interested? She couldn't get away fast enough when I tried,” he had said.

They stood in the lobby, waiting for Varric to peel Merrill away from the bar and her lemon drops. The bright white marble floors and walls and reflecting chandeliers were getting to him; Carver wanted to be out on the street as soon as possible. Back in the dark, cool air. He'd had a few drinks too once Merrill ran and now the lobby felt like an interrogation room.  

“And here I thought you learned a thing or two about women.” She tsked and jabbed him in the shoulder with an accusatory finger. Her bangled wrist jingled. “You live close to here don't you, Carver?”

It was an interrogation after all. He shrugged. “A few blocks north.”

“That's just perfect. You'll get our girl to the wedding won't you?”

Carver hesitated. He liked Merrill, but she probably wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of sleeping in his bed. And if she was in his bed, he wanted it for different circumstances altogether. Before he could protest, Varric showed up with Merrill in his grip. She cooed at the sight of Isabela, and Varric handed her off easily. Merrill snuggled against her friend’s ample chest and Carver looked at his feet.

“Kitten, Carver's going to let you sleep it off at his place,” Isabela said. “It's close and he's going to be the perfect gentleman. Unless you don't want him to be...”

Merrill mumbled a phrase close to “need sleep somewhere” and a gentle nod. She blinked heavily, and yawned.

She regained her ability to talk in complete sentences at Carver's apartment, apologizing profusely as her friend tucked her in.

“I'm so sorry, Isabela. You take good care of me.” Isabela murmured something back Carver couldn't hear. A ceiling fan threatened to block out their entire conversation and though he wasn’t proud of it, he strained at the door to listen without being revealed.

“I just couldn't face it. You're all _so much more_ than me. How can you be my friend? I don't have money or a powerful job or do anything interesting.”

“Kitten,” Isabela soothed. She was soft and comforting and tucked the dark blue covers up under Merrill’s chin. _His_ covers. “You're better than all of us. Just for being yourself.”

“Being Merrill doesn't get me much,” she sighed.

He shouldn't have listened, but it had been impossible to stop once Merrill’s sweetly slurred voice took ahold of him. It gripped his insides desperately, as if sinking claws caged his heart and he'd sooner let them puncture it than have them pull away. Carver waffled on the spot, unconvinced she'd fallen asleep. Before he was to turn away, a thin imitation of her usual voice gutted him.

“You think that's why he stopped talking to me? I thought maybe because I was a mage, but he doesn't seem to mind that at all and then I tried to remember if I said something and you know how I can babble on and maybe I'd been mistaken about being friends in the first place. Maybe he just pitied poor Merrill...”

She began softly crying and Carver finally had to agree with his sister for once. He was an absolute idiot. Isabela shushed and reassured; Merrill had done absolutely nothing wrong. He crept away with a guilt-ridden mind and fell into the worn couch, waiting for Isabela’s reproach. There was no way she could walk away without scolding him over this. His stomach lurched, his head hurt and the claws holding his heart so precariously had sunk deep. He was hemorrhaging and couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Part of him hoped Isabela's takedown would be brutal.

Isabela walked over moments later, calm and unsmiling. Carver readied himself for the worst, but for once she didn't take the opportunity to threaten him.

“Check after our girl every so often. Make sure she’s alive, Carver.” Isabela patted his shoulder and grabbed her purse from next to the door. Before stepping into the hall she paused. “I hope you heard all of it.”

 

Carver pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache. He shoved at the steering wheel, as if it had anything to do with his being a complete tit after all. He didn't want to be the cause of Merrill crying ever again. Though what that meant he still wasn’t certain. Maybe being friends was safer than anything else he had in mind. And it was all his mind could conjure up for the past two weeks. Holding Merrill that morning had felt good, like he’d done something right for once in his life. A knock on his window broke the miserable contemplation, and Merrill stood there, dress over an arm and shoes in her hand. She'd added a few braids to her short hair, and a daisy behind an ear. He unlocked the door with haste.

“Better?” She looked it, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, her skin flushed.

“The shower helped! I should have done it sooner. Though you probably wouldn't have wanted me dripping wet all over your apartment.” Carver bit his tongue and took off from the curb, shaking his head. “I’ve said something dirty haven’t I?” She released a sweet sigh. “No one ever explains when I do that.”

Carver was not about to start. If he went down that path... He changed tracks. “Are you excited for the wedding? I bet you’ll have a good time tonight.”

“I’m worried I’ll trip. But Isabela said you wouldn’t let me. Please don't let me, okay?”

A street light turned red and Carver slowed to a stop. He took the opportunity to look her in the eyes for the first time since the night before. Looking at Merrill always screwed with his insides, turning any hard anger he had into puffs of sweetness.

“I wouldn’t let you fall, Merrill.”

* * *

 

The bridesmaids gathered in Hawke’s dressing room. They spent nearly an hour getting ready, a few makeup artists and hairdressers running around fixing up everyone to look as beautiful as possible. Someone applied fake eyelashes to Merrill, and she blinked oddly at the added length. As bad as she thought wearing the same dress as Isabela would be, the soft lilac suited everyone equally. Merrill spun back and forth in front of a long mirror and approved of the dress’ flattering lines, the tight bodice and flowing skirt.

“You look beautiful,” Solona said beside her. She smiled at Merrill through the mirror’s reflection, a twin in the same dress. She looked as elegant as a queen, her long hair pinned up in braids and waves.

“You too,” Merrill said.

“We all look amazing,” Hawke agreed. Her mermaid gown flowed beautifully on her frame; soft, off the shoulder sleeves showcased her toned shoulders and back. A lilac-beaded accent on her belt matched her to the rest of her bridesmaids. Merrill hummed her approval and swept the bangs out of her friend’s eyes.

“I am so happy for you, Hawke. And to think Sebastian was almost a priest!”

Merrill thought it a sweet story; Hawke helped Sebastian with a case, following up on attempts to defraud his father and have him thrown out of office as Starkhaven’s Governor. After spending a considerable amount of time together, Sebastian decided to forsake taking his vows for new ones altogether. Today they'd exchange those vows and Merrill couldn't stop smiling. She felt much better after Carver’s hangover cure and her shower. A wedding really was a perfect way to spend the day, and she looked forward to the fine decorations and dinner and dancing. As long as she didn’t embarrass herself down the aisle, the rest of the evening promised to be wonderful.

 

Kirkwall’s Chantry could fit hundreds, and Hawke and Sebastian apparently had a lot of friends and family. Merrill’s eyes widened at the crowd before them, filled to the very back pew, a wide assortment of guests, from Anders who balked at being inside a house of worship, to Sebastian's many powerful family connections.The groom’s side seemed much more opulent, with women wearing large decorated hats and men in expensive suits. Hawke's uncle Gamlen stuck out across the aisle, looking very much the pauper comparatively in slacks and a polo.

Merrill's nerves kept her frozen to her spot in line. She was the first bridesmaid to walk, but that wasn't possible. Surely she’d stumble over her heels and long dress. All the humans would stare at her pointed ears and whisper behind their hands. The harpists cued the wedding party to move, but she couldn’t hear them over her heartbeat. A bit of icy sweat ran down her spine and Merrill gulped.

Carver appeared at her side, placing her hand on his arm. He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I promised won't let you fall. You ready?”

She shook her head “no,” but took a tiny, tentative step forward. Merrill squeezed Carver's arm, and though each step felt ridiculously slow, she was relieved to have Carver there to pace her. Why humans moved so glacially at weddings she never understood (Merrill herself would run up the aisle if someone she loved was waiting for her), but at least most guests faced forward as they marched as slow as snails. The back of heads were easy to look at. She spotted funny hats and counted bald spots and before long, Carver unhooked her desperate grip on his arm and whispered, “see you later, Merrill.” He shook hands with Sebastian while she took her place on the bottom step on the opposite side. The worst part was over. Merrill didn't trip, people didn't stare -- no one even really looked at her. Solona and Sebastian's youngest brother came forward, then Aveline and his oldest. Isabela sashayed to the front on Fenris’ arm and many a tongue did wag. They were quite the pair, Merrill admitted. And then Hawke walked down the aisle on her mother's arm and heads turned. Everyone stood. The smile on her friend's face at seeing her soon to be husband waiting next to Elthina brought a tear to Merrill’s eye. They were really in love.

The wedding passed quickly after that, blink and miss it moment of readings (Varric's made her laugh), handwritten vows (these made her cry) and lots of cheering when Elthina finally allowed the couple to kiss. As the first bridesmaid to walk, she was the last to leave and by that point had nothing to fear. Merrill met Carver at the center. Before she'd been too nervous to notice much about him other than he was steady at her side. Now as she took his offered arm, Merrill was struck by how handsome he appeared in his light grey suit. She flushed prettily and walked easily to the back of the Chantry with one of the best looking men in Kirkwall.

The warm feelings didn't last long. Sebastian and Hawke knew so many people, and had so many family members. In the receiving line she met them all, one by one as guests gave Carver a bear hug or shook his hand, depending on whose side they were on. The guests smiled nicely at her, but she was mostly a stranger to these people. With a few exceptions like Varric and Donnic, Merrill hardly mattered. It was too overwhelming. Had this been her own wedding, she'd never had been able to fill her side of the Chantry. Her foster mother Marethari likely wouldn't have even shown, and Merrill had never known her own parents, or anything about them. She’d been born in Nevarra and put in Marethari’s care long before she could remember. It was hard to say if anyone in her foster family would attend a gathering for Merrill either, knowing that Marethari didn't approve of her life. But Merrill still felt moving to Kirkwall had been the best decision; she’d been able to help preserve and restore their people’s history at the museum so everyone could learn from it, and not just elves. And if she hadn’t left, she never would have met Hawke, the woman she looked up to most, or Isabela, her best friend. Merrill had been right to start a new life and she wasn’t getting married anytime soon. She told herself there was no need to worry about her lack of family. But being at the wedding reminded her how much she had lost. Though Merrill couldn't take it back, and wouldn't if she had the chance, it still hurt knowing you were quite alone.

With these small worries and concerns floating around her thoughts like unwanted flies, Merrill spent the rest of the evening watching Hawke and Sebastian and wondering how happiness like that felt. Would she ever find a person who loved her that much? So far she'd had absolutely no luck in that regard. Everyone usually complemented Merrill on her cheerfulness, but at the moment she didn't feel filled with much optimism. How had this day been so turned around? She was happy for Hawke, she really was. But Merrill suddenly felt lonely, despite all the friendly people at the wedding. It wasn't until the tables were cleared and the speeches over that Merrill began to have any hope for the night.

Hawke and Sebastian glided across the dance floor to a song she didn't recognize. One of his hands clutched Hawke's lower back, holding her tightly against him. The other held Hawke’s aloft, and they danced so beautifully that Merrill blinked in surprised. Had Hawke known how to dance this whole time? Merrill certainly couldn’t match up to that. As the dance came to an end, Solona drifted away to sit near her husband. This emptied the seat next to Merrill. It wasn't vacant long; Carver swooped in to take his cousin's place.

“Do you want to go out there?”

“You mean dance?” She squeaked.

Merrill began to shake her head, but Carver grabbed her hand anyway. His large, warm hand dwarfed hers, which brought on all kinds of nervous yet excited butterflies in her stomach, like when she'd seen Kirkwall for the first time -- new and shining with possibilities. He led her to the dance floor, a slow, romantic song bringing all the couples out of their seats. Carver tugged her close; Merrill assumed the pose of every woman nearby, arms clasped about her partner’s neck. Her first instinct was to start talking, but that was always wrong. She'd come out as nervous sounding as she felt. Instead, she tried to think back about that morning when she'd fallen asleep on him and hardly been anxious at all. Perhaps it had been the hangover, which had been rather unpleasant. Or maybe she had realized how silly she'd been at the rehearsal dinner, overreacting at a simple touch. Either way, it was hard to imagine all of their touching had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

As it was, Carver didn't leave her to worry about not knowing how to dance. He held her close and led very well. Merrill followed his movements, once or twice stepping on a foot, but Carver didn't even flinch. By the end of the song she even had the courage to look up, meeting his gaze and feeling much more than just nerves in her stomach. The way he looked at her now was how Sebastian looked at Hawke all night, like there were stars in his eyes.

The music stopped, but neither let go. Merrill didn’t want to say or do anything to break the connection between them. This seemed more than just friendly. Her heart thrummed in anticipation. Would he kiss her? 

“Can we talk outside?” Carver asked, voice unsteady.

Merrill managed a yes.

* * *

 

The only thing to do now was to tell Merrill he was sorry, and to hope she was open to being more than friends. She'd looked so sad all night and since he'd taken it upon himself to make sure she never cried again, Carver had to try something. The dancing worked well, better than well, even. The self-centered part of him had just wanted to hold her again, but Merrill lost that little crease in her brow and started to look herself. A frown didn't belong on her face. Hopefully he wouldn’t put it back just now by apologizing.  

They walked together through the dim halls, not hand in hand, but close enough to touch. The old Viscount’s Keep had been restored to its glory days and was a popular wedding venue. And outside the back of the main floor was a private garden, one he knew Merrill loved. He remembered how in visiting the first time, she'd picked flowers not realizing it was looked down upon. All her new discoveries back then had made him smile, despite how annoyed he'd been with his sister and most of her friends. It was as if he'd locked away his own ability to smile three years ago and accidentally lost the key, and now Merrill had given it back.

She gleamed in her bridesmaid dress, a light purple gem in the middle of the dark garden. No one else was back there, and not likely to be as Marian's wedding was the only party in the building. Merrill walked past Carver to explore a nearby flowerbed, poking her nose in the petals to catch the soft scent. She knelt at the edge of the dirt, at some point her shoes had come off and dangled from a hand.

“I just love the smell of flowers,” she said. “They're all so different from each other but still equally sweet. I could live in a flower garden.”

Carver stumbled for something to say to that. The image of her bathing in flower petals was never far from mind and he stammered in an effort to not reveal his thoughts.

“Did I say something?” Merrill looked up, beguiling him with her bright green eyes. “Was it dirty again?”

“No,” he said. He was the one who made everything innocent she said dirty because he couldn't stop thinking of her that way.

“Okay.” She looked unconvinced. “Did you want to talk about something? I could talk about anything, but I think you had a conversation in mind? Do I need to sit? Sometimes humans say that after saying 'they need to have a talk.’”

Merrill stood and wiped any dust off her skirt. The rest of the garden was bordered by a short wall, and Merrill walked carefully past the flowers to sit atop it. The nearby lamplight and the moonlight shining from above made her almost shimmer, and Carver’s voice caught in his throat. She was so beautiful, so very gentle and sweet. He was anything but, yet still he wanted her. Merrill waited patiently as he gathered himself, and needing to be close to her again, he picked his way through the flowerbed. He reached her after careful steps, and placed his hands on either side of her on the wall. Her knees almost touched him. Though he was more nervous now than he could ever remember, Carver didn't delay any further.

“I’m so sorry, Merrill.” Her lovely eyes widened in surprise. “I treated you poorly, I realize that now. We were friends and I shouldn't have stopped talking to you just because I stopped talking to my sister. I didn’t realize that it would hurt your feelings; I was an idiot. You were always a good friend to me, and I threw it away because I was too focused on myself. I’d like to think I’ve grown up since then and to be honest I...the truth is I always... you see... I may have thought...” He flushed, looking at his feet, realizing with a small bit of sadness he'd trampled a flower despite his caution. Somehow he was still so muddied over her.

“That you liked me?” Carver looked up. Merrill smiled shly.

“Yes,” he said, then with a bit more confidence, “very much. I always thought you were so nice and sweet and definitely too good for me.”

“Too good for you? No, that's not true, I'm not anyone important. I'm just Merrill. Clumsy, babbling Merrill.”

“You're the least clumsy person I know, and maybe you sometimes talk too much, but it's cute.”

She flushed. “You think that?”

“Of course. You’re adorable. I just hope you can you forgive me for being such an ass?” His heart pounded in his throat. He had such high hopes all of a sudden and it would make the most sense that they'd be crushed. But maybe for once things would go his way.

Merrill brought a hand up to touch his face. She cupped his jaw and without thinking, he crowded closer towards her. She moved her knees apart and he stood between them. She tilted her head and with a twinkling smile said, “I do.”

Carver laughed. “Are you making a wedding joke?”

“Oh, weddings aren't very funny. Romantic, but they’re very serious business don't you think?”

“I do.”

He closed the space between them and kissed her. Merrill’s hand travelled to the back of his neck, and his gathered at her small waist. Her lips were as soft as the flower petals, her breath as sweet as the garden air. She met him shyly, but smiled as his lips pressed against hers. Merrill was a treasure, the most precious woman he'd ever met. Her other hand clutched at his lapel, and she opened her mouth to him. He felt her squirm in his grasp, and he pulled her closer. Merrill gasped at that and Carver felt a surge of desire so thick his head swam with the thought of her opening up to him completely.

He kissed her neck, pressed hot kisses to her ear, her cheek, before moving back to her mouth. Merrill’s breath was coming in uneven bursts, and she pulled back to get a full gulp of air.

Carver felt like an ass again. He wasn’t supposed to behave like this with Merrill. She'd forgiven him, not asked that he fuck her. He stepped back, putting an inch of space between them so she could breathe better. “I’m sorry,” he said. His own breathing was uneven.

“Oh, don’t be. That was lovely. I was rather hoping you wouldn’t stop.”

“Really?”

Merrill shook her head and scolded him with that perfect, sing-song lilt. “Carver, why does everyone think I’m so innocent? I know what two people do together in dark gardens!”

Carver flushed all the way to his hairline. He’d spent a lot of time contemplating their first time together, but he knew, despite Merrill’s protest, a dark garden during his sister’s wedding was not the place for it. She pouted though, her soft lips arched in contempt for him at his self-imposed distance. Carver pressed back against her, letting her mold her legs around him, pulling up her long skirt for more movement. He smoothed a creamy thigh, and she tensed until his hand stopped.

“I want to... do what people do in dark gardens, Merrill, but I can’t. I’ve just gotten on better terms with Marian and she’d kill me for it. Besides we just kissed and--”

It was Merrill’s turn to flush. “Oh, I didn’t mean -- I’ve never. Not that people who do that are wrong, but I just expected you would want to kiss me longer.” She clutched at his jacket, chest heaving, eyes wide with want. The tips of her ears were bright red and she looked at his chest. “Maybe you could just kiss me again so I stop babbling and ruining the moment?”

“You’re hardly ruining the moment, Merrill.”

“Will you kiss me again anyway?”

“I could hardly say no.”

It was a good long while before they returned to the wedding. No one seemed to notice they were missing for so long, especially not Marian, and thankfully not his mother. The only person who did in fact take note was Isabela, who smiled to herself as she took in Carver’s crumpled suit jacket and Merrill’s adorable grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot going on here. Carver really needed to hear how his absence affected another important person in his life. Merrill goes into the wedding optimistically, but realizes that she's pretty lonely despite her friends. There's nothing better than someone else's wedding to remind you how lacking your own family is (speaking from experience here, I get you, Merrill). 
> 
> Interesting tidbit: I was trying to figure out Merrill's original clan, but in World of Thedas Vol. 2 it is explained as the following:  
> "According to official Chantry investigators, the elf Merrill was born in Nevarra and then given to the Sabrae clan of Dalish at a very young age for magical training. This form of fostering is common among the wandering Dalish."
> 
> I never realized how DA2 kind of glosses over that fact. Maybe I am remembering incorrectly, but we know that Merrill was from another clan, but it never comes up. I feel like Isabela is the only one who really gets that Merrill is indeed very lonely, despite her chipper demeanor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of blood magic and its perils, not the cute, Merrill kind. Be forewarned

He’d really been a fool two weeks ago, contemplating how terrible his morning was when all he’d been faced with was a wedding invitation and a non-casualty blood magic report. Carver had spent all of this morning at the office in a state of ridiculous anticipation, texting Merrill about plans that evening at The Hanged Man. They were going on a date, an actual date where he could take her home and kiss her at the door without feeling like he was taking advantage of his sister’s friend and instead treating Merrill like she deserved. The office had been fairly empty; Emeric was gone, and Carver felt relieved for it. Emeric was stressed, he had been researching disappearances for months, trying to track a supposed serial killer. Not that he wasn’t doing good work, but Carver had enough of his own cases to depress the void out of him most days. No one could ruin his good mood; Merrill had been so perfect in the garden, squirming and wriggling in delight from his attentions. He'd needed a few cold showers between then and now to surpress the need to call her and just show her what two people usually did in the dark. But by the afternoon he and a few others had been called to a scene in Darktown, and then, then Carver remembered what being truly miserable was like.

It was gruesome. Emeric was dead, a few other officers were banged up from fighting off several shades and abominations, and the killer had gotten away. Carver paced up and down the alley, furious at Emeric for not taking backup in the first place, and disgusted that there were people out there who had no regard for life. His desk neighbor sprawled cold in the street, blood pouring from his head, from everywhere. Carver clenched his jaw and his fist, wanting to hit something.

Detective Moira came over and conferred with him, knowing Carver had heard a lot from Emeric after sitting next to him for the last two years.

“He was right about the serial killer after all,” she said with a surprised _humph._ “He mentioned a Gascard DuPuis -- know anything about it?”

Carver shook his head. “I heard the name from him, but I have no idea what he was doing out here alone. Stupid way to go.”

Moira narrowed her eyes.“You sure you haven’t heard anything else about this guy DuPuis? Emeric mentioned since the police weren’t helping he was going to consult your sister.”

A shiver went down his spine. Carver held himself in check, making sure he didn’t add any heat to his voice that he’d regret later. “Maker, she was married two days ago, Moira. She’s on her honeymoon now, leave her out of this.” Marian probably did take that consultation, she probably had stuck her self-important nose in the case. But whatever happened today at the crime scene had absolutely nothing to do with her. Fuck if he was going to let someone insinuate his sister was part of this.

“Consider it a head’s up. I’m sure they’ll be checking both her licenses in the next few hours.”

“She’s not a blood mage. And she sure as shit didn’t do this on her flight to Antiva.”

Moira just shrugged and walked away as a few of his other coworkers gathered near the body. A crime scene photographer began to take pictures, little numbered tents placed around the scene for reference later. Carver really didn’t want to stick around any longer.

It was a good thing he’d started talking again with Marian because the taskforce members not working the case invited him to blow off steam at The Hanged Man. Weeks ago he’d have been hard-pressed to go inside, not willing to take the chance that his sister would be draped over the bar, or one of her friends would report on his bad behavior. The seven of them sat around a low table in a private room, drinking whiskey and commiserating over their fallen colleague.

“He was like a dog over a bone on this case,” Riggs said. The man had cropped hair and a crooked nose, and Carver never liked how much he bragged when he brought in a blood mage. “But I guess the old dog was right after all.”

“Probably would have been better he was wrong,” said Ruvena. She was new to the taskforce, and drank vodka instead of whiskey. “Does this happen a lot?”

“What?” Riggs asked, slapping her on the back. “Do blood mages kill taskforce members in the streets? Fuck no. Fifteen years ago, before someone formed the Council of Mages, that was a time. More than twice as many mages running around killing people for fucking sport. Like the dark ages of Kirkwall until some of ‘em decided it was time to take responsibility for their own and helped enforced registry through the taskforce.”

“It was voluntary?!” Ruvena sounded shocked.

“Back then it was. Had a heck of a time convincing anyone to do it too, thought we were just going to haul their asses down for lobbing a few fireballs at their fireplaces.”

Carver stood up to get another drink. Riggs grabbed at his jacket, giving him a glare of distrust. “Your sister’s friend though, he’s trying to get rid of registry again.”

Carver shoved him off; Anders was an asshole, there wasn’t much he could do about that. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Just curious s’all. Your sister’s name was being dropped back there. She’s a mage not so friendly on the taskforce either.”

He could've hit him square in the jaw, knocked him back on his braggart ass, but Riggs was senior to him, and the taskforce was the only job he had. A younger Carver would have done it without hesitating: speaking ill of his family was the biggest mistake you could make. Instead, Carver breathed deeply, contemplating how much trouble he’d be in, and how much he could cause for Marian for being an idiot with a short temper. Everyone was drunk, they’d been at The Hanged Man for hours now, bitching and drinking and saying shit no one should have to say, but need to once someone you know gets killed.

“Leave her out of this, Riggs. She’s not even in the country. And that friend of hers, he’s a right prick so stop trying to make me talk about it. My friend died too you know.”

Riggs sat back at that, and raised his glass. “Fine, Kid. You’re right. Better off we stick together, eh?”

“Something like that,” Carver muttered. He turned away with relief, done with drinking, but needing to go to the bar and at least pretend for a minute in order to gather his thoughts away from the others. A foul taste was in his mouth from drink. It felt like poison in his veins after being relieved earlier when Emeric wasn't there in the office to bring him down from his Merrill-induced high.  

The poison turned to ice as he remembered his date far too late. Merrill was already perched on a stool with a lemon drop and Carver muttered “fuck” before she could hear him. She saw him walking over though, not too gracefully, and frowned.

“Carver! Have you been here this whole time? I’ve been waiting over an hour!”

He dropped his glass on the counter and rubbed his eyes with his palms. “Yes -- I forgot the time. We’ve been here since four and I--”

“You are very drunk, aren’t you?”

“I-- yeah, I think so.”

Merrill shoved her phone back into her small purse. She was wearing a green dress again, with thin straps and a low back, revealing her smooth, pearlescent skin. He groaned at his stupidity then, completely forgetting their date in light of everything that happened that afternoon.

“I thought I meant something to you, but you must visit a lot of dark gardens, Carver Hawke!”

“Merrill,” he tried. He wasn’t even in the mood for company tonight, not after seeing Emeric in the alley and hearing Marian’s name being thrown about like a suspect for Maker’s sake. She was a private detective, it was her job to get involved when people paid her to. But Merrill did deserve a proper explanation for all of this, whether they were just friends or more than that at this point.

“Don’t ‘Merrill’ me. Have your fun tonight and I hope you get hungover tomorrow!”

She scampered off her stool and left in a huff. Carver just stood there, staring dumbly at the door in disbelief over what had just happened. Surely Merrill wasn’t going to give him another chance after blowing her off. He sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“Fuck.” It was the only thing he could think to say; this really was the worst day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver can be a bit of a tit. *shrugs* He doesn't mean it. 
> 
> Sorry for the snap from fluff, but Kirkwall still sucks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw

**\--If it makes you feel any better I am hungover right now--**

Merrill didn’t want to read the message, knowing who it was from, but she couldn’t _not_ look at what Carver had to say. When she did peek at her phone, she did feel a little better knowing he was feeling as terrible as she had the other morning. That didn’t last long. Mostly Merrill felt sad he’d stood her up to drink with his friends. Didn’t their kisses mean anything to him? They had to her, so much. Merrill still shivered at the memory of his hand skirting her thigh. That was tainted now, ruined for her.

She messaged Isabela, knowing full well her friend would comfort her.

**\--He just messaged me. I’m ignoring it. I should be, shouldn’t I?--**

While Merrill waited for Isabela’s reply, Carver messaged her again.

**\--I’m sorry Merrill. Really -- But last night I should have cancelled our date. I forgot because something terrible happened at work and I lost track of time.--**

She chewed her lip. He’d just admitted he forgot about her. That hurt, especially after giving him forgiveness for doing it before. But then what terrible thing had happened? If she forgave him, would he continue to just put her off whenever he felt like it? That was an awful thing to do to someone you really cared for. Another message pinged and Merrill hoped it was Isabela.

**\--I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry and you have every right to be mad. I’m an idiot, but I care about you. I told myself I’d never make you cry again and I’m sure I already messed that up.--**

The message was confusing. Cry again? When had she ever cried in front of Carver? She’d never cried because of him. At least not before last night, when admittedly a few tears had tracked down her cheeks as she dressed for bed.

She twisted her sleep tunic into knots. She needed to talk to Isabela. Instead of messaging her again, she called, crossing her fingers that Isabela wasn’t at work already. After a few rings, a thick-voiced Isabela answered the phone.

“Kitten,” she purred. “What is it?” A low voice pleaded in the background. Isabela laughed and sushed them. Merrill was glad Isabela couldn’t see a flush through the phone.

“Were you... are you with someone right now? Oh! I can wait, I’m sorry!”

“Nonsense,” she said. “They can wait. Besides, a little wait makes it all worthwhile. Tell me what’s wrong. What did Carver do now?”

“He stood me up last night, on a real date. When I found him at the bar he was already drunk with his taskforce friends. And then he just texted me saying ‘I told myself I’d never make you cry again.’ What does he mean? I’m upset because he stood me up, but I don’t remember crying over him before. We were just friends!”

As soon as the words left her lips, a sinking feeling crept into Merrill’s stomach. She couldn’t remember exactly one night of her life, and then Carver had assured her she’d done nothing wrong. But what if she’d cried in front of him? She’d been rather lonely and low after the rehearsal dinner. And then after all the sweet drinks that fooled her into drinking too much...

“Kitten, the other night you were three sheets to the wind. You may have expressed a little concern for how someone had forgotten you, but it was nothing to worry your pretty head over.”

With the words, her memory slowly came back: crying in Carver's bed about being poor Merrill, assuming he'd only befriended her in the past out of pity. She never felt true embarrassment until that very moment. Not finding him on the couch when she was dressed only in his t-shirt, not after admitting in the garden she’d never slept with someone before, not even last night when Carver sloshed over to the bar, saying he’d forgotten her. She covered her face and muffled a little frustrated whimper so Isabela couldn’t hear. The tips of her ears burned and she felt completely the fool.

“If you asked me,” Isabela said. “I think it's worth questioning Carver about that, not your barely dressed friend.”

“Oh, go back to bed,” Merrill sighed.

“I saw how happy you both were you know,” Isabela replied. “I think you could work if you’d ever just speak without one of you getting mortally embarrassed. Think about it, sweet. Maybe there was a good reason for last night. You’ll never know unless you ask.” Isabela let out an undignified squeal. “Okay, have to go!”

The phone disconnected and Merrill sagged in her sheets. Flopping back on her pillows, she considered what she might say to Carver, had she not needed to get ready for work.

 

Merrill spent the whole day thinking about her predicament. She was upset, but didn’t that mean she cared for him? Wasn’t being upset better than feeling nothing at all? She could barely concentrate on piecing back together the mirror, and cut her finger on a shard of glass. Merrill sucked on the cut before anyone called blood magic again, though now she was in the back of the museum, free from prying eyes. A silly part of her thought how much easier that would be though, getting caught. It would force Carver to come back to the museum and check on her again, though if his warning was true before, she’d lose her license, making it technically illegal to practice any magic.

Isabela was right, she had to just speak to him. If only it was as easy as calling him. Merrill worried too much about saying something wrong now, when before she’d always remembered being able to speak to Carver easily. He’d said in the garden that he’d always liked her. Somehow, Merrill had never noticed. She noticed it now. As soon as he’d come back into her life she was hyper-aware of Carver and how he smelled and felt and... She started daydreaming about their kisses; the gentle tug on her lower lip, the way he held her waist and pushed against her as she rocked back in response. The pleasing shock of how nice someone else’s tongue felt in one’s mouth, the heated breaths, and the twisting, gooey feeling of being that close to him. The mirror was half-finished, and Merrill caught her expression in the dull, tempered glass. It was that starry eyed look that Carver had worn while dancing with her for the first time. It was enough to convince herself to at least message him back. 

Merrill waited to send her message once she arrived home. Sitting upright in bed, her fingers flew across the screen and sent out her concession:

**\--I’m upset, but I want to talk now.--**

Carver could still be at work. If there was something terrible happening there, maybe he wouldn’t have time to message her. She frowned at her phone. Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. Merrill got up and started making herself dinner. There was barely anything in the fridge, or the cupboards, and so she sighed. She’d have to go shopping again. She hated the markets, they were too busy, too confusing. Half the time she’d give up with her basket mostly empty. It was probably why there was little more than biscuits and apples to eat now.

Merrill sat and munched a red apple, resigned to at least eat something before braving the market. The fruit was juicy and should have been good, but Merrill didn’t feel like eating at all. She just wanted to speak to Carver and now he wasn’t answering.

The doorbell rang. Merrill didn’t often have visitors, but perhaps her neighbor lost her cat in the building again. She jumped up and opened the door, apple halfway to her mouth, and Carver stared back at her.

“I hope it's okay I looked up your apartment number in the database. I thought this would be better in person.” He looked very ashamed, eyes downcast and huge body shifting in the doorframe. He still wore his uniform, and rubbed his stubbled chin. “I’m really sorry, Merrill. I didn’t mean to put you off. I said I’d never do that again, but everyone’s right about me.”

“What are they right about?” Merrill still didn’t let him in, but her tiny bit of resolve crumbled little by little.

“I’m an idiot, a bit of tit, a self-centered ass. Take your pick. Everyone else certainly does.”

She couldn’t exactly disagree with anyone of those other people right now, but she’d never thought he was an idiot before. Carver looked so sad and tired that Merrill thought it was cruel to leave him standing in the doorway. She backed up, letting him inside. She abandoned her apple on the kitchenette countertop and started fussing with her bedcovers. Her studio apartment was so small, there was no where else to have the discussion but on her small bed. “I don’t know about any of that, but you should sit. You look like you’re about to fall down. Do you need some water?”

He sighed, rubbing his face this time. “How can you be so nice to me?”

The answer was very obvious in Merrill’s mind. She wasn’t a mean spirited person, but that’s not what he meant. The reason she was so nice to Carver was because she cared about him. Despite his being a fool at times, he had always made her feel good about being herself. Even when he’d caught her red-handed a few weeks ago, he didn’t judge her for using blood magic. Carver just accepted Merrill for who she was: a Dalish elf who still made mistakes. Shouldn’t she try to accept him for who he was? Everyone made mistakes at times, and though it had hurt to be stood up, he’d apologized and was trying to make up for it now.

“I suppose it's because I care about you,” Merrill said. "And more than just friends."

Carver looked up, as hopeful as she’d ever seen him before. His blue eyes pinned her heart. “You do?”

“I do.” She grinned, knowing he’d be thinking about exactly what she was thinking of: their first kiss. “I really don't have anywhere for you to sit, other than the bed. I hope you don’t mind.”

He indicated no, and followed her to her tiny bed. At least it was made, and not crumpled sheets and tossed pillows. Carver hesitated as she sat primly on the edge. Merrill patted the covers though, and Carver sank down. Resting his elbows on his knees, he folded his hands in front of him.

“Seeing as you probably don’t want to hear I’m sorry one more time I want to try and explain what happened yesterday.”

“Okay,” Merrill said. “I’m ready to listen now.”

“Good, I’m glad. But what I have to tell you isn’t very happy, Merrill. I-- sometimes my job is dangerous. Not every blood mage is as perfectly normal as you are.”

“I know that.”

“Right, of course you do. Well, my colleague was killed yesterday. He’d been investigating a series of kidnappings that he thought was the work of a serial killer. Apparently he’d gotten close. We found him in an alleyway and whoever murdered the poor bastard fled.”

Merrill gasped. Even though she knew there were terrible people out there, it still shocked her to hear how dangerous Kirkwall could be. “Oh Carver,” she said, feeling a little better about being forgotten.

“And that’s maybe not the worst of it, as terrible as it sounds to admit. They want to talk to my sister about it, they’ve said she was consulting on the case. People have suggested...”

“Is Hawke in trouble?”

Carver shook his head. “I don’t know, I don’t think so? She wasn’t even here. Figures they don’t trust her though, she was always right about prejudice against mages. She’s really going to hate me now, after they pull her from her honeymoon.”

That was the worst news of all, Merrill thought. “They can’t do that! They deserve their time away.”

“I don’t know if it’ll work, you know Marian. She’ll just tell them to fuck off and get a new hotel without leaving a paper trail. Then she'll saunter into the taskforce office when she damn well pleases.”

That did sound like Hawke, but still, the idea of Hawke in trouble for something she had nothing to do with was upsetting. Hawke meant the world to Merrill; she’d never be set up in Kirkwall without her help. She scooted closer to Carver on the bed, rubbing his back and resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at her touch, but Merrill knew it was because he was still feeling guilty about their date. She felt silly now. She couldn’t be mad at him after hearing what an awful day he had.

“Carver, I’m sorry for making you feel worse.”

He sat up, making her lean back off his shoulder. “Don’t apologize to me, I know I messed up. I should have called you, texted you, anything. I just got too wrapped up in my own pity party. I’d be a terrible boyfriend, Merrill. And as much as I want you, I really don’t want to keep hurting you.”

“Couples fight,” she pointed out. “Even your sister has fought with Sebastian and he still married her. And then you get to the making up. Isabela says she never gets to do that part because her dates never last long enough, but it's supposed to be the best.”

He shook his head, shaking the whole bed in the process. “Merrill, don’t make me laugh.”

“Did I say a dirty thing again? I never know what humans consider inappropriate.”

“A little -- making up after a fight means having sex,” he said. Carver peeked at her sideways, curious to see her response. For her part, Merrill was done being embarrassed. She said she wanted to know what these things meant, and now Carver had given her a straight answer.

“Are we going to make up? We did have a fight.”

“Merrill...” He thought she didn’t know what she was suggesting still, but of course she knew. Merrill stopped Carver from saying anything else by putting her fingers over his lips.

“I've been lonely for a long time, even before moving to Kirkwall. Your sister and Isabela and even Varric are my friends, but I need someone who wants to be  _more_ than just my friend _._ Isabela reminded me what I said after the rehearsal dinner. I know I drank too much, and said some things that were silly, but they were also true. I realized that you mean more to me than just friends and the idea of you not wanting me the same way..." She sniffled a little at the idea. "Tell me if you'd don't feel like that for me; I know it's been a long time since we really spent a lot of time together, but I forgive you for that. I had a lot of growing up to do too. But with all those kisses I thought it meant you might.”

He grabbed her hand, fitting it with his. Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, falling to the floor beating at their feet. “Merrill, I told you I always liked you. I still like you a lot. I don't think I could ever stop caring about you. Even when I act like an idiot you matter to me -- you make me feel better about myself, everything's better.”

“Okay, I believe you. You need to tell me when the bad things happen," she said. "I don't want to wonder about you. And I don't want to be forgotten."

"Merrill," he said, squeezing her thin hand. "I promise I'm learning from all my mistakes, I really want to make this work. You do mean a lot to me and I want to show you."

Merrill smiled and made up her mind. If she liked Carver, and he really liked her back, there wasn't time to waste. She'd spent enough lonely nights in this bed, wishing there was someone for her. “Then let’s stop talking about last night. Are we a couple now? Does that mean you'll kiss me again? I really enjoyed that part the best.”

When he hesitated, Merrill made up the distance, leveraging herself with a hand on his knee, the other at his back still. He turned to say something else and Merrill caught him easily, covering his mouth with her own, taking away any more apologies or excuses. She was not mad. Though it was distressing to hear Hawke might have some kind of trouble, Merrill couldn’t do anything to help. What she could do was kiss Carver until he stopped worrying so much about everything else. He caught her up in his arms after she opened her mouth again, eager to taste him like before. Carver shifted Merrill to his lap, and she straddled his waist, knees on either side of his. A lightning storm surged inside her, she crackled with energy and every time Carver’s hands roved somewhere new, she gasped at the spark it produced.

“I was serious about the making up,” she said between kisses. “I want to make up with you very badly.”

Carver moaned into her shoulder, gently kissing her neck. His heart was as beating as fast as hers; she could feel it against her ribcage. He stopped the kissing and the petting and looked up at her. “Are you certain that’s what you want? I will definitely be happy to make up with you however you let me, but I want to be sure you’re asking... that you want to have sex right now.”

She smiled sweetly, happy that he’d wanted to be very clear. That wasn’t bad boyfriend material at all. “Yes, only if you want to too, that is, I thought you would, but I don’t want to move too fast if you don’t think we should be.”

“I think we're together now, and we should do whatever we want. Right now I really really want you, Merrill.”

“Oh, that’s good!” She squealed as he picked her up and laid her back on the bed.

Carver was heavy, but he didn’t squish her. The bed was a little small, but he managed to fit by lying mostly on top of her. Merrill’s pulse flew out of control, she felt a little bit in disbelief that this was finally happening, but she couldn’t be more pleased of who she was with. Even in his jacket, Merrill could tell how in shape Carver was. His arms were thick and strong, his chest broad. She squirmed with pleasure at the thought of him naked with her, inside her. Even thinking it to herself was rewarding, a rush of excitement flowed to her groin and she tugged at Carver’s jacket.

“Take it off,” she said.

He did as she asked, shedding his coat on the floor, his boots and pants and shirt to follow in swift succession. Merrill still wore her work clothes, a dress shirt tucked into her black slacks, and though Carver was the nearly naked one, she still felt a bit self conscious. He leaned against the wall on his side, and unbuttoned each of the small, white buttons so slowly that Merrill wanted to do it herself. He parted her shirt at last and dipped his head forward, kissing between her breasts.The scruff on his chin tickled, and Merrill couldn’t help laugh.

“Next time I’ll shave,” he teased. Merrill removed her top, and started undoing her slacks when Carver took over again, pulling the fabric down her thighs. He leaned back against the wall and took her in, gazing from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”

She flushed, even though she swore she’d stop doing that. No one had ever told her she was beautiful before though. “Thank you,” she said, voice shaking. “Oh, and you are beautiful too, I should have said that.”

His grin was infectious. She grinned back, head swimming with all the possibilities of what was to come. Carver moved a hand down between the valley of her breasts, over her stomach, down to the line of her underwear. Fingertips inched beneath the fabric and her eyes fluttered shut. Carver kissed her again, soft lips parting hers, and he tasted her as his hand dove farther and farther beneath her underwear. “Is it okay if I touch you now?” He asked.

Merrill nodded her permission and was rewarded with a fingertip that delved all the way down, stroking her from entrance to top; she breathed in quickly, sharply, before it settled on her clitoris, gentle coaxing pressure. “Tell me what you like, Merrill.”

“I don’t really know,” she admitted. “I like this a lot, it already feels better than when I do it.”

“Oh?” Carver kissed her collarbone, then moved down to her breasts, he pulled aside her bra cup. His lips closed around her nipple and Merrill sighed and sank into the bed, legs parting further. She undid her bra and slipped it off, making Carver lift off her skin for a quick second. He cupped her small breast with his free hand, though it was wedged mostly beneath his body from cramming into the tiny space. The lightning inside her sparked and rioted, though most of it traveled hot and quick to her groin. He was stroking her still, making her very wet indeed, and Merrill arched a little as he hit a spot that pleased her very much.

“That, do that again,” she whispered.  

He repeated the movement until she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t hold still, couldn’t even remember anything other than that moment as his callused finger drove her completely mad with lust. She arched off the bed and grabbed his hand, not wanting to come too soon, to end it before it really even began. “I’m going to... please Carver I don’t want to ruin it.”

He chuckled into her skin. “You won’t ruin anything, trust me. You can again, I know it.”

Carver asked her to trust him, so she did. Merrill stopped fighting against his working fingers, and let him carry her into a state of bliss she’d only ever entered alone before. It was better this way, much more satisfying to come and catch a glimpse of his satisfied expression as she moaned and squirmed. His large hand smoothed over her cunt, fingertips edging close to her entrance. She wanted to be filled, to feel him inside her, moving against her. Merrill touched him over his briefs, stroking his erection beneath the soft fabric.

“Will you have sex with me now?” Her voice was so soft and wispy she could hardly believe it. One of his fingers delved inside and Merrill squeaked. Carver kissed her again, tongue twisting with hers. He added another finger, pushing deeper, faster. Merrill peeled off her own underwear, and Carver groaned as she rocked into his palm.

“Maker, Merrill. You are so tight.”

“Elves are smaller than humans,” she offered. “Will it fit?” He nodded into her shoulder, still moving his fingers in and out, in and out. She felt a bit of electrical surge coming again, pooling in her groin once more as he dragged out of her. Suddenly she realized what he was doing. “Oh,” she said, watching him with interest. “You’re trying to make me ready? Are you? Ready I mean?”

“Can’t you tell?” He canted his hips toward her and she smiled wickedly.

“Not with your briefs still on, Carver.” She pushed his hand away and pressed him back further into the wall. “Take them off!” Her hands twitched almost nervously, but she pulled down his briefs, revealing a very ready organ. His penis was large when unleashed, larger than she’d expected, but Isabela always suggested that was a good thing for the woman. Merrill grabbed him uncertainly, not even sure what to do next, and Carver let his head fall back.

“You are so so perfect,” he breathed. “Are you sure about this?”

Merrill whispered a yes into his ear, and giggled as he pinned her to the bed. She parted her legs for him, certain as she’d ever been.

“Are you... it's alright to be nervous,” he suggested.

Merrill shrugged. “And if I’m not nervous?”

“That’s even better.” Carver kissed her intently, soft lips pressed against hers sweetly, not urgently, but deeply. He held her face with one hand, the other busy unwrapping a condom she’d failed to notice until that point.

She sputtered for a second, breaking their kiss. “I hadn’t even thought! Oh, well I’m glad you’re prepared.”

“Merrill, it's not like I was expecting this to happen, I just --- have one all the time?” He dropped his head. “I swear, I say the worst... we should talk about this seriously, later. For now we’re good.”

“Good,” she agreed. “Then let’s get on with the sex.”

Carver snorted soundlessly and kissed her again, this time it was a heated passionate kiss, the head-swimming kind with little nips on her lower lip, and plenty of tongue. She sighed as he positioned himself over her entrance. He pushed in slowly, her eyes widening with each inch.

“Creators!” She gasped so loudly she worried her neighbors would hear.

“Sorry, it might hurt,” he said. Despite a quick pinch, “hurt” could barely describe what she was feeling. Didn’t he remember she’d practiced blood magic before? This wasn’t the time to bring it up, but as Carver seated himself in her fully, Merrill’s nails dug into his biceps. “Painful?” He asked.

“Oh, no, no.” She cooed. “Keep going please.”

He did as he was told, setting a rhythm they both could enjoy, as new to the experience as she was. Merrill felt that building sensation return, a different kind of coaxing, and she doubted this orgasm would feel as incredible as the last one, but Carver had been right. She ran her hands over his shoulders, across his back, nails scratching his skin. He kissed her breasts as best he could, tall as he was, then her neck and ears, nibbling up to the very tip. She giggled as he tickled her with his scruff again, and was silenced with a series of kisses in pace with his movements.

“You. Feel. So. Good.” He peppered kisses between each of his words. Merrill smiled at that; he could really be so sweet at times. They moved together for a little longer, Merrill began meeting his thrusts, sure that she should be doing more than just laying there. Carver’s brow grew furrowed, and he moaned once like she had. “Merrill, ah, Maker.” He was going to come soon, she was pleased to tell. He grabbed one of her breasts and teased her nipple again, sending energy straight to her groin again, the electric currents beginning to ripple outwards, her limbs tingling.

“Kiss me,” she begged, and before she could barely get the words out, he met her lips with his. It was perfect for a first time, she thought, as she came as he came, stuttered breath joining, moans uniting. If this did really count as makeup sex, Isabela had been right.

Carver lowered himself down, but didn’t pull out. She was okay with that, letting their breathing return to normal, chests heaving with exhausted pleasure. Merrill was hardly tired, she doubted she’d be able to sleep at all. Not after Carver made her this happy. He kissed her brow before getting up to take care of business, depositing the condom in the waste bin. She watched him move across her small apartment, he was much too large to fit. She supposed she would have to stay at his place often, his bed was at least twice the size.

Carver came back to sit next to her, stroking her stomach. “What now? Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course,” she said, sitting up and hugging him tight. “Though there isn’t a lot of room in this bed.”

He returned the hug and yanked her back down. She giggled and wiggled as he tried to pull the covers out from beneath them. “Oh I need to turn down the lights,” she said.

“We’re not sleeping yet, Merrill. I have a lot of plans for the rest of the evening.”

“Oh?” Her interest was piqued. “What kind of plans? I hope it involves more sex.”

Carver laughed and shook his head. He pulled her tightly against him, fitting her perfectly in his arms, her head beneath her chin. “It does, I was hoping we could talk more too.”

Merrill leaned back and tilted her head to kiss his chin. “Once you get me to start, you’ll have a hard time getting me to stop!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet and stubborn finally unite! Merrill is straightforward in her approach and gets what she wants. :) 
> 
> I know this was a long chapter, but I really wanted all of that from Merrill's view, as the wronged party, coming to terms with what all her feelings could mean.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly nsfw as Carver thinks back

The very best morning of his life was happening. Carver was sore from squishing into a small bed, had drool on his arm, and woke up due to a softly snoring Merrill, but he couldn’t complain in the least. Not while she still pressed against him, naked. They’d not been able to have sex again after using his only condom, but he had showed her many ways to make up for it.

Merrill had no idea how affecting she was, eager to learn and please, giggling through everything and making the most out of every learning opportunity. “Better than being described to by Isabela,” she assured. That had given Carver a few thoughts of his own.

Despite knowing there was a lot of depressing shit to come his way and and his family’s, Carver took a hold of the precious amount of happiness he'd been granted and refused to let it go. Literally. Merrill had slept in his arms all night. Now that Merrill let him in, there was no way he’d let her ever feel lonely again. She stirred in his arms, soft, lilting voice adorable with sleep. 

“Is it time to work?” she asked. 

“No,” he said, kissing her tousled dark hair. She smelled like daisies too after all. “Go back to sleep. I set an alarm.” 

She seemed satisfied at that, wiggling her rump in his direction as she settled. All the pieces were back together again, he thought, squeezing her tight as his heart felt full for the first time in a very long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now! I hope you enjoyed this story. I've left it at a place where I could certainly come back and fill in more. If you'll recall, all the stuff with Emeric sets us up for the quest 'All that Remains.' I didn't want to take this there, but it could be great fodder for more AU Carver & Merrill. :) 
> 
> Plus, Hawke's reaction when back from honeymoon would be just perfectly over-the-top!


End file.
